Poisoned Apple
by Phoenix.G.Fawkes
Summary: Snow White might no longer be as white and pure as she once was, but she still should have known better than sinking her teeth into the poisoned apple, no matter how tempting it might have been. Rufus/Blair, Blair’s POV.


**Disclaimer:** Gossip Girl, its characters and names don't belong to me.

**Title:** Poisoned Apple

**Pairing/Character(s):** Rufus/Blair, Rufus/Lily, Blair/Chuck, mentions of other canon pairings.

**Rating:** PG - 15

**Word Count:** 5, 496

**Spoilers:** 1x18

**Warnings:** Apart from the pairing, none.

**Notes:** This can be read either as a stand alone or as a sequel to 'The end of Eden' (Rufus' POV).

* * *

**Poisoned apple**

Blair Waldorf wears ruby lipstick and designer outfits in the same way knights used to wear armors and helmets back in the Middle Ages. She is getting ready for a battle she has every intention to win, even if it means crushing the enemy under her Jimmy Choos' heels.

She checks her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye. Not a single hair must be out of place if she wants to give the right impression and Blair was born to play the part. Her headband is perfectly in place; her outfit makes her look serious and responsible. Maybe she should go for a more innocent look…? No, she doesn't want to overdo it. The enemy might not know the tricks under her sleeve but she would be a fool if she underestimated them all the same.

She tries not to scrunch up her nose when she steps out of the cab and takes a look around. It's probably just her imagination, but she could swear that even the air feels stingy and substandard here. Blair closes her eyes, squares her shoulders and prepares herself to walk across enemy lines before stepping into the so-called art gallery.

To her surprise, she finds it's not half-bad. It's no Met, of course, but the place looks nice and the paintings seem rather interesting. Blair wonders about the artist's identity, because the style is fresh and catches her eye, until she remembers she's not here to enhance her art appreciation. She waits patiently, choosing her words carefully, intent on casting the right image straight away.

When the target finally enters her line of vision, though, she is momentary startled. At Thanksgiving she was too absorbed by her own train wreck of a life to pay him much attention and therefore she never took a good look at his face. He looks… young. She knows he can't be any younger than Mrs. Van der Woodsen, but something in his open demeanor, his frank clear eyes and his kind smile makes him look more like Cabbage Patch's older brother than a dad. Blair blinks, but she doesn't lose a heartbeat. He looks somewhat befuddled when she introduces herself, but Blair is all charm and smiles now and he seems to take her words at face value.

_Boy, this is going to be so easy_, she thinks as she plasters an understanding smile as he speaks of his concerns over Jenny's quest to climb up the social ladder, and not even Dr. Phil would pull off such sympathy like the one that fills her voice when she tries to soothe his worries. She's the embodiment of innocence and good intentions, and now all she needs is for him to bite the poisoned apple she's offering so she's a step closer to get her crown and throne back.

Fairy tales are a strong force to beckon with and he never stood a chance.

-

Life can be surprising. Even a control-freak like Blair has come to terms with this fact and yet she's still thunderstruck when she finds herself laughing – not giggling, not snickering, but openly, head-thrown-backwards laughing – at Mr. Humphrey's ('_Call me Rufus'_) comments. And the shocking part is that she's not even laughing _at_ him.

'So to cheer him up after the whole T-ball fiasco you bought him a doll?'

He pretends to look affronted.

'It wasn't exactly like that,' he replies, the amused glint in his eyes betraying his serious tone. 'I was going to give him a basketball – you know, maybe trying a different sport would help his self-esteem – but I had to get something for Jenny as well or it would've been a domestic disaster.'

'Oh, sibling rivalry?'

He tears his eyes from the paper garland he's fixing on the wall and glances at her, curious.

'So you have siblings?'

Blair shakes her head. 'No, Serena's the closest thing to a sister I've ever had.'

And she doesn't regret it, because her friend has provided all the companionship she could ask for as a child – not to mention it's hard enough for Blair to get her parents' undivided attention as it is.

'Ah, well, it can be disastrous if you don't watch out for it. Not that Jenny and Dan didn't get along just fine, but getting a present for only one of them – bad idea, trust me.'

He nods gravely and she almost bursts out into laughter again but checks herself just in time. He keeps battling against the garland and the scotch tape and once again she has to stop herself from showing her distaste at the decorations – after all, she means to ruin Little J's birthday and the tackier the decorations the better.

'So I got him the basketball and the doll for Jenny – but somehow Dan got to open her present instead and he seemed so happy about it I never had the heart to tell him it was meant for his sister. I had to go back to the store and trade the basketball for a Barbie for Jenny.'

Blair pictures a six-year-old Dan Humphrey fawning over a freaking Cabbage Patch doll and it's almost too much to bear.

'And that's how Cedric joined the Humphrey's household?'

'Well, yes. And he's a very valuable member of our family. Knows all our darkest secrets so we don't mess up with him.'

She seriously doubts there are any dark secrets in that household and tells him so. He looks away for a moment, his body tensing and Blair stares at him, wondering – but then he smiles again and the tension in the room dissipates.

'You'd be surprised. Now, tell me, are you sure the balloons plus the garlands aren't a tad overkill?'

Blair plasters her most sugary smile on her face. 'Of course not. They look very… festive.'

_And frankly horrid_, she thinks, but surprisingly enough she doesn't find herself inwardly snickering at his taste. Instead, she is trying to remember when was the last time either of her parents went through all this pain to plan a party for her. If she's not mistaken her mother used to hire someone to take care of everything until Blair was old enough to do her own planning or find someone willing to throw a party for her.

She shakes her head, trying to push those thoughts out of her mind. Her parents love her and her Dad would do anything for her (_except living in the same continent_) and feeling jealous of Jenny Humphrey is unforgivable and utterly ridiculous. Blair is gonna crush her without mercy until she turns back into the lackey she is meant to be.

However, Blair is not thinking of Little J's annihilation when she discusses with him the dubious nutritional value of Rice Krispie Treats or when she listens to his stories on his old days of glory, much more amusing and fascinating than her father's tales of his youth at Yale. Laughter escapes from her mouth without her noticing it, smiles curve her lips and charm comes to her naturally. She doesn't have to act, she doesn't have to remind herself to be civil every five seconds and Blair can't understand it, because she has never felt so at ease with an almost total stranger before. There's something about his easy charm and his engaging manners that make Blair lower her guard and she can almost, almost forget she is here to destroy his daughter.

'So, what do you think?'

He shows her the cake he's gotten with a picture of Little J wearing a tiara. She bites her lower lip, trying to hold back her laughter, but she finds his hopeful smile endearing instead of lame. Blair reckons the cake would be appropriate for a twelve-year-old girl, but she gives him a dazzling smile, her voice pure saccharine when she claims that Jenny will love it.

'Are you sure? Perhaps she'll think it's childish…'

'Oh, no, Mr. Humphrey, it's lovely,' she assures him, placing a hand on his arm for emphasis. She feels him tense under her touch, his whole body turning rigid as stone. She looks up, surprised, and when their gazes meet she sees the ablaze look in his brown eyes. Her breath hitches almost imperceptibly, because she cannot remember the last time anyone has looked at her with such raw intensity, and the air around them becomes charged with electricity.

He looks away first.

'We should call Hazel and the other girls, shouldn't we?'

His voice is strained, lacking its prior warmth and cheerfulness, but it's enough to break the spell cast over Blair, who removes her hand from his arm and plasters another nauseating smile on her face.

'Of course, Mr. Humphrey. Let me handle it.'

The electricity surrounding them dissipates with a wave of her hand and they return to the easy camaraderie forged in the prior hours. He goes back to his charming self, and she smiles with more sincerity than she would ever have believed possible.

If Blair notices that he is very careful not to enter her personal space or that he doesn't quite look at her in the eye, she doesn't say a word about it.

-

She literally bumps into him a few days after the whole birthday fiasco. Blair is running late for class after spending two hours trying to photoshop a picture of Jenny that would make her look like she was stealing a skirt from Bendel's, and she nearly falls on her backside when she hits a solid, warm wall. Strong hands grab her shoulders and prevent her from staggering.

Blair looks up and her eyes meet with a familiar intense gaze. She lets out a soft gasp, because she wasn't expecting to see him again, because she's not sure where they stand after she ruined Jenny's birthday on purpose... or at least helped to do so.

He lets go of her shoulders almost at once and takes a step back.

'Hello, Blair.'

Perhaps it's her imagination, perhaps it's her guilty conscience but his voice sounds hollow and almost cold. It's not like Jenny didn't have it coming to her, though, so she discards the idea.

'Oh, hi, Mr. Humphrey,' she replies brightly, straightening her jacket. 'Did you just walk Jenny to school?' she asks, pretending she won't use the information against the girl. For some reason, he looks suddenly embarrassed.

'No, of course not. I mean, I wanted to, but she…'

'Didn't want to be seen with her dad in front of her friends?'

He lets out a sigh.

'Apparently not.'

He looks so resigned and defeated at his daughter's snub that Blair can't help but feel somewhat sympathetic.

'It's just her age. She'll grow out of it.' Then, because she just can't help herself, she adds: 'You didn't walk _Dan _to school, did you?'

At this, he laughs out loud.

'No, although I'm sure he would've been more appreciative than Jenny. No, I just came to… well…' He looks very uncomfortable all of a sudden and Blair can read him like an open book.

'You wanted to make sure that she actually came to school.'

He seems like he's about to protest, but then thinks better of it.

'It's not like Jenny's ever skipped class before,' he explains, almost defensively. 'It's just… she's not been herself lately.'

'Are you talking about the Valentino dress she…?'

He winces, as though her words had pained him. 'That… and other stuff.' He tilts his head to one side and eyes her intently. 'Jenny claims you were just trying to ruin her birthday. That you played me. Is that so?'

Blair swallows. There are a millions things she could say, some of them half-truths, others blatant lies… but when she looks into his eyes she cannot bring herself to say nothing but the unadulterated truth.

'Mr. Humphrey, I'm just trying to get back what Jenny and the other girls took from me.'

She expects him to scoff at her, to shoot her a glare and a scathing remark at her pettiness; she expects him to look at her with that air of insufferable moral superiority Cabbage Patch usually displays around her. He does neither. Instead he just looks into her eyes, as though he were trying to find some hidden truth in them, a pensive expression on his face.

'Is it all worthy it, Blair?'

She shifts, feeling somewhat uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze.

'It means everything to me. It's… it's who I was born to be.'

He nods slowly, as though he could truly understand what she means. There's no condescension, no disdain or pity in the way he regards her, just grim acceptance.

'I get it,' he says softy. 'I just wish it wasn't my little girl caught in the middle of this gunfire.'

Blair could tell him that Jenny could hardly be considered an innocent bystander. She could tell him that his little girl can be vicious and manipulative, she could tell him that Little J caused Blair's downfall.

But she won't, because she has never felt comfortable with collateral damage, she has never felt comfortable with hurting people who have caused her no harm. She regrets what she did to Eric Van der Woodsen when it was Serena her target all along and this is no different.

She doesn't apologize, because that's just not who she is, but for a fleeting moment she is almost tempted to do so, not because she regrets in the slightest what she put Little J through, but because a part of her wishes he hadn't been caught in the middle of it.

'I just hope you know what you're doing, for both your sake and my daughter's.'

Blair Waldorf always knows what she's doing. The problem is, she reflects as she watches him walk away from her, she doesn't always like it.

-

Her mind is still reeling for all what's happened in the last twelve hours. Serena, more broken and desperate than Blair has ever seen her, claiming she had killed someone. The trepidation in her chest when she saw that her friend was gone from her penthouse, the panic clenching her heart when the bartender told her about the four guys dragging a drunk Serena outside the club, the relief that soon turned into worry when she realized that even though her friend was alone and unharmed, she was so, so far from being alright…

And then Blair was forced to swallow back her pride and dignity to call the last two people in the world she would have liked to ask for help, the shock when the truth came out at last, the thrill at the chance of making Georgina Sparks pay for the hell she'd put Serena through and the subsequent disappointment when they found out that she had already left, without giving them the chance of getting their hands on her.

All these emotions are still swirling inside Blair and perhaps that's the reason she doesn't fully realize at once where she is, why she doesn't sense the danger she finds herself in. Or perhaps it's because she has spent these last few days deluding herself, pretending it did not matter the flutter in her stomach when thoughts of honest, warm eyes entered her mind, when she remembered a strong grip on her shoulders and a soft voice resonating in her ears. She almost convinced herself that it meant nothing… but almost is not good enough as she is about to find out.

Music is blasting off the speakerphones but she pays no attention to it – she's never been a fan of alternative rock or whatever this concert might be about and the only reason she is here is Serena. She doesn't even glance once at the stage, her eyes instead scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Humphrey's fugly hair. She doesn't know why she looks up, why her eyes glance towards the stage in that precise moment, as though it had been decided beforehand that she should lie her eyes on him just when he raised his head and their gazes meet.

Is it her imagination or his eyes widen when he catches sight of her? Blair will never know. Her heart starts hammering inside her chest and her breath catches, because as foolish as it might sound she wasn't expecting to see him again so soon (and if she'd ever paid attention to Serena's rants on her boyfriend and his family this would not have happened but it's too late to dwell on it now). She stares at him, mesmerized, and never has the notion of him being father to Cabbage Patch and Little J seemed more ludicrous to her than now, because he has never looked less like a parent than he does now standing at the center of the stage under the spotlight. She watches his skilled hands pressing the strings, she looks at his lips forming the lyrics, the ablaze look in his eyes and she reckons that he has never looked as young as he does right now.

She stands there in a daze, her heart pounding, her mind transfixed and she can almost believe he's looking directly at her as he sings, his eyes burning her skin, his voice sending shivers down her spine. She lets her mind wander, she lets go of her worries and forsakes propriety when she imagines what it would be like to lead a different life, without boundaries or constriction. What it would be like to hit the road and go wherever the wind took her, what it would be like to leave all she knows behind and seek for an adventure? Is that the appeal _groupies_ find in following bands across the country? Is it the freedom what they find so enticing, the chance to be a small part of the magic behind a show? If it is so Blair can almost, almost get it, because even though she is static she feels very much alive as she looks into his eyes and for a fleeting instant, she believes she could stay like this forever.

Alas, that is not the case and she crashes back to reality when she feels a tug on her sleeve.

'Waldorf? You're supposed to be helping S find her boy-toy, remember?'

She blinks and in a sudden the imaginary world painted in her mind vanishes into thin air. She glares at Chuck and purses her lips as he raises an eyebrow.

'What's up with you? Are you really a fan?'

Blair snorts and rolls her eyes.

'As if. Where's S?'

-

Blair knows it's none of her business, not really, even though she's known her since she was a little girl and she can't help but worry. That's what she tells herself that the knot in her throat means; she's worried because her best friend's mother is kissing another man the day before her own wedding. Blair hopes Serena won't come out right now because she doubts her friend will enjoy seeing her mother making out with her boyfriend's (_ex-boyfriend's?_) dad and getting into a car with him.

The truth, though, is that Blair is not thinking about Serena, not really. She is not that concerned about propriety and decorum either, although she knows that not even Chuck's dad deserves something like this, because she has suffered betrayal on her own flesh and it's a pain she does not wish upon anyone.

It's not worry, it's not self-righteous indignation what prevents her from breathing for what feels like ages. She doesn't dare to name the emotion that constricts her throat and makes her heart clench inside her chest, she doesn't dare to wonder why her eyes are stinging, why her nails are digging on her palms when she watches him kiss Lily Van der Woodsen like there is no tomorrow.

_I don't care_ she tells herself and why should she when it's none of her business? He can do whatever he wants, it's not like he owes Blair an explanation. And yet… and yet there's a sour taste in her mouth as the car disappears around the corner. She can still see them in her mind, Mrs. Van der Woodsen's arms around his neck, his fingers threading through her blonde locks and Blair feels like throwing up.

Serena calls her, her voice broken, distress clouding her eyes, obscuring her face. A chill runs down her spine as Blair fears her friend might have seen…

'Georgina… He's with Georgina now and I c-can't… Oh, B, I d-don't even want t-to…'

Blair snaps out of her reverie and wraps her arms around Serena, who starts to cry on her shoulder. In between broken sobs Serena spills the entire story of Georgina's scheme and a bout of pure rage swells in Blair's chest. Fury at that treacherous, manipulative bitch that's tearing her best friend's life apart, at Serena's useless charity case of ex-boyfriend-to-be, but above everything at herself. She should have known better than believe there could be still a man in the face of Earth that was honest and reliable, warm and sincere when every single man she's ever known (Nate, Chuck, her own dad and now Dan) is an artist of deceit and betrayal.

-

Blair is not really surprised when she sees him sneaking out of the suite where Mrs. Bass-to-be is supposed to be getting ready for her wedding. Certain stories are cyclic, its patterns a never ending spiral of mistakes repeating themselves over and over again. She turns on her heels and walks away, her head held high, pretending she has not seen him, pretending she doesn't know how this is all going to end, that her heart doesn't race and her chest doesn't fill with dread at the sight of him.

If she closes her eyes in front of what she doesn't want to see, then it will vanish and she'll be able to go back to her perfectly scripted life. It has worked for her since she was a little girl (or so she tells herself over and over again) and she sees no reason why it shouldn't work this time.

Except he is not one of the characters in her ideal script. He was never supposed to have a part in her play, never meant to portray anything but an extra role; however, he keeps eating screentime in the movie inside her head, always saying the wrong (_right_) lines.

'Blair, wait.'

She stops on her tracks, not deigning to glance at him. He catches up with her, looking somewhat sheepish and apologetic. She refrains the urge to roll her eyes. Lameness must be a Humphrey trait, then.

'It's not… Look, I don't know what you must be thinking, but –'

'You don't owe me an explanation,' she cuts him off, her voice sharp and chilly. He winces, because he has never seen this side to her, because around him she could always show a part of herself that few people would ever see.

She starts to walk again and much to her chagrin, he falls into step beside her. There's something in the way his step matches hers (_like Nate's never has_), the smell of his aftershave, his mere proximity that sets her on edge. She is usually more dignified than this; today, though, doesn't seem to be her day.

'Blair, you're misreading the whole situation.'

'I don't care what you do,' she shoots back, her voice higher than she intended, 'or _who_ you do, for that matter.'

He halts for a moment, frowning.

'That was crude.'

'Cruder than sleeping with your son's girlfriend's mom on the day of her own wedding?'

There's something so wrong and utterly ridiculous about that last sentence that she could burst into laughter after the words escape her lips, if it weren't for the fact she is fuming. Whether she is thinking of Bart Bass' happy demeanor while greeting the guests, the hopeful note in Serena's voice when she wished her mother marital bliss or something else entirely Blair will never tell. Her blood has reached ebullition point and she just wants to strike back whether it's fair or not.

'You're too young to understand.'

His words are so cliché she wants to scream or tear her hair or perhaps just slap him. She is too dignified to do any of that so she raises to her full height, her teeth gritted and her hands clenched into fists.

'I'm not a child,' she hisses, furious and hurt at the same time, because he's being condescending, like a grown-up to a small child and she really doesn't want to think that's the way he might see her.

Shadows darken his face and cloud his eyes when he looks at her, a familiar, electric intensity in his gaze.

'No, you're not a child. But you're still too young.'

At the wistful note in his voice, the longing and regret evident in his eyes, her anger vanishes, trepidation creeping in when the air around them becomes charged with unnamed feelings and thoughts never to be spoken aloud. Something shifts between them, something she doesn't want to acknowledge because it was never supposed to be on her perfect script and she can't deal with it.

He takes a step towards her, his eyes never leaving hers.

'Lily meant so much to me for so long,' he says, his voice a mere whisper. 'I held onto what we once had for… well, forever. Even when everything ended between us, I still believed deep down that we were meant to be.'

His words open wounds inside her chest that have never quite healed when she remembers she used to have her own fairytale once, her own happily ever after that never came to be.

'When the entire universe keeps getting in the way, though…' he goes on and she has to move closer to listen to his faint words. 'Well, you start wondering whether it was really written to be like this or perhaps you should just change the script.'

Her eyes widen slightly at his choice of words, although her lips remain sealed. There's a turmoil inside her, a whirlwind of feelings and confused thoughts she cannot define, because each word he says describes her heartache with painful accuracy. She feels exposed, as though he has looked through her mask and seen the shattered pieces of who she used to be.

She sees the pain in his eyes, a reflection of her own, and her body takes a step forward of its own accord. She doesn't know what she's thinking, she's not sure she's even thinking at all when she places her hand on his arm, but she needs to do this, she needs to offer him the comfort she's never let herself know.

Blair feels him tense up under her touch but this time she doesn't back away. She holds her ground instead, her eyes boring into his. He holds her gaze hesitantly, almost reluctant to do so, but he doesn't look away. There's a bit of uncertainty in his eyes, perhaps even the slightest trace of fear now she has thrown him off his game. It's a bittersweet triumph because truth be told, Blair has just thrown herself off her own game by her last action. She knows that she is _supposed_ to say something, that she should move forward or just back away, instead of standing motionless, stuck between action and hesitation.

But she is unwilling to move, too caught in the moment to care about propriety or common sense. She stares at him and he doesn't look away, and for this instant in time there are no masks, no false pretence between them, when she can read his face like an open book and when for once she lets the barriers down and allows him to see the turmoil inside her chest. At this particular moment in time, their names don't matter, neither do age or what the rest of the universe might think. At this particular moment in time she can just wonder what it might feel like to graze his face with her fingertips, what it might be like to throw caution to the winds and let herself be swallowed whole by his unwavering gaze.

He leans closer and she has to grab his arm tightly when she can smell his aftershave and her knees waver. He tugs a rebellious loose curl behind her ear, his fingers turning the gesture into a fleeting caress on her cheek. She shivers and tries very, very hard to hide it, because she is not a thirteen-year-old with a stupid crush and she would hand over all of her Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks before admitting that her feelings are spiraling out of her control once more.

'Blair, I really don't think…'

She never gets to hear the end of that sentence, because despite her oath not to commit anything stupid or nonsensical, she chooses that very moment to stand on the tips of her toes and press her lips against his.

_Idiot!_, yells an unforgiving voice inside her head, but she pushes it aside as she grabs his forearms with both hands and presses herself even closer to him. All sense and caution have been thrown out the window, and she knows she will regret it, because she always, always regrets it when she steers away from her carefully laid plans and does something stupid like making out with her best friend's ex-boyfriend's dad, and it sounds so ridiculous and deranged she should be laughing out loud or checking herself into a mental institution. When he stops just standing there like a marble statue and kisses her back, though, all thoughts and rational concerns flee from her mind and she lets herself forget there is a wedding about to start without them, forget about the thin line between what's wrong and what is absolutely unforgivable, forget about life-long plans and methodical scripts never to be followed.

They break apart too late, too soon, and he takes a step back at once. He eyes her as though he saw for the very first time and his face contorts when a myriad of emotions – shock, astonishment, regret, shame – crosses his features. Her hands clench into fists, because she knows what he is thinking, she knows what he is about to say and she doesn't want to hear it.

'Blair, I don't know what came over me, I'm so…'

'Save it,' she cuts him off briskly and he winces at her coldness. She hopes with all her heart that her iron mask is back in place as she holds onto her Ice Queen armor to protect what's left of her dignity. 'Let's just forget the whole incident, shall we?'

'Blair, you don't understand –'

'Oh, trust me, I understand all too well. I'm not a child, as you should have noticed by now.'

He flinches as though she had punched him in the gut and her harsh words probably did, but her eyes are stinging and she has to get away from here before she embarrasses herself any further.

'I advise you to leave before one of Mr. Bass' security guards sees you, Mr. Humphrey' she states matter-of-factly, ignoring the stricken look on his face. 'I can't keep loitering here, I have a wedding to attend, you see.'

And before he can break her into little pieces by trying to apologize for something she started of her own accord, she turns on her high heels and walks away as fast as decorum will allow, not daring to look over her shoulder, not even once.

Hours later, she finds herself in Chuck's arms, because familiarity does bring some comfort, even if it's frail and treacherous because not even she is naïve enough to honestly believe the boy's solemn promises that he will behave like a true gentleman from now on. But she lets herself pretend that this time it will work for real, because the evil she already knows is better than the one that can break her when she's least expecting it.

As Chuck's fingers trace familiar patterns on her skin, she closes her eyes, trying to conjure out of her mind another pair of concerned eyes, a smile kind and open instead of crooked and devious, her fingers itching to touch rougher skin instead of the smooth cheeks she gets to caress.

She wills herself to forget about spring afternoons spent among Rice Krispie Treats and multicolor garlands, she puts her mind, heart and soul in exorcising memories of unrestrained laughter and easy camaraderie, of a burning touch and a kiss that didn't break the spell cast over her.

Snow White might no longer be as white and pure as she once was, but she still should have known better than sinking her teeth into the poisoned apple, no matter how tempting it might have been.


End file.
